I wrote this nearly two years ago. I'm not going to say much about it, but I will say that my little sister saved me. A beautiful four-year-old taught me that it is OK to love myself. I want to do that same for you.

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I remember the first time that my little sister asked me if she looked beautiful. I didn't hesitate to say yes, but I didn't think anything of the question either. It was a simple question. She was a curious little girl.

I remember the second time that my little sister asked me if she looked beautiful. She put on a pastel pink dress with light ruffles that framed her skin perfectly. She looked delicate, like the rose that she pretended to be when she wore that dress. She was delicate.

This time, the question didn't seem like a question from a four-year-old who asked questions just for an answer. This seemed like a question from a four-year-old in search of reassurance.

Her light brown eyes turned into midnight tunnels that led to nowhere. Her apple red cheeks became pink, and then a pale peach as if she were holding her breath, just in case she didn't receive the answer she was waiting for; as if she didn't think that she would.

Of course you are, my sweet girl.

I remember the third time my little sister asked me if she looked beautiful. Only this time, she didn't ask. She told me that she didn't feel beautiful. A four-year-old who thought that her skin looked too natural and her eyes not heavy enough.

She walked in the room as I was applying my makeup for the third time that day because my natural complexion began to resurface and of course, I had to hide it from the world, because could you imagine if I actually let the world see a natural scene take place?

She was crying. "I need to put on makeup too because I need to be beautiful." "I want to be beautiful too," she said.

My heart became a sinking ship that longed to reach the bottom of the ocean, only the bottom of the ocean didn't want to be reached. I tried to form words but for once, the thoughts that I wanted to transform into reassurance didn't want to be transformed.

I wrapped her in my arms as if that could save her thoughts, but her thoughts had become a barricade of lipstick and eyeliner that she longed to reach. I just hugged her.

I remember the time that my little sister walked in on me crying. She became a stone wall that began to tumble down with every tear that tumbled out from within me. She was so gentle as she walked towards me and put her five little fingers in between mine.

She looked into the hurricane that I had become and asked, "Is it because you don't feel beautiful again?"

My body became numb and my soul escaped me as if it longed to become someone else. It felt as if my lungs were being held underwater by bricks and chains, but really it was my own being suffocating itself.

She just sat there, waiting for my answer. An answer that I didn't want to give because that would involve my lying, and I've never been a very good liar.

Everything that I had tried to avoid had been brought to life by a beautiful four-year-old that didn't believe she was beautiful, and I was the reason why. She has been looking up to me for the past four years, and this is what I have given her to look up to.

A girl who has dug her own grave and buried herself in insecurity. A girl who puts on makeup at least three times a day only to add pounds to the weight that she already carried on her shoulders. A girl who has to ask if she looks OK one, two, six times before she leaves the house because society has made her believe that she doesn't.

I'm in this picture that the world has painted, but they never offered to give me the paint brush.

I don't want to feel this way. I shouldn't have to feel this way. We shouldn't have to feel this way.

The birthmark on the corner of your eye that you cover up with full-coverage concealer is just as beautiful as the mole that you draw on. The blonde eyelashes that you can't see in the glare of the sun are just as beautiful as the false ones that you glue on.

We should feel beautiful with makeup. We should feel beautiful without makeup. We are beautiful.

The flaws that make us human are the pens to our stories. We are flowers in a dessert and the sun makes us grow.

What if we can change the saying- "Little sisters look up to big sisters" to "Big sisters look up to little sisters?"

I remember the first time my little sister looked at me and said, "I am beautiful."

I am too.